Memoirs of the Second War
by electricsymphony
Summary: ‘Weasley’s masterpiece is nothing but the facts, without too much exaggeration and a touch of real emotion...' Ron has written a book detailing the Second War, and we'll follow him as he rereads, deals with the past and reconsiders everything he knows.
1. Chapter 1

**Memoirs of the Second War**

Disclaimer: All of the story text was written by me, but the characters, settings and really everything I've written about comes from the wonderful mind of J.K. Rowling. Through the actual story, every chapter will have half the text written from a third person point of view about Ron's life after making the book, and the other half of the chapter will be excerpts from the book itself. The book is fictional of course, and I write all the excerpts from it.

DH Spoilers! This story is completely littered with DH Spoilers, so please be the smart people I know you are and don't read this if you haven't read DH. Come on, if your reading this story I know you can read, so you can read this note. Seriously, I'll have none of this "You ruined the seventh book for me" from anyone. It states clearly right here _DH Spoilers!_

I think you get the point. I'm being a bit grouchy aren't I? Sorry. Onward, sailors!

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Prologue

* * *

"Mr. Weasley? How do you feel about the fortune your book has made to date?" 

"Fortune?" Ron asked, grinning at the mass of people. It was a dusty, dry August afternoon and several reporters from the Daily Prophet had swarmed around the common of Hogsmeade for a book signing from Weasley, the newest wizarding author. "I doubt I've made a fortune, you should see where I live." There was an eruption of laughter at the comment, but it could easily be classified as fake. A sudden flash of light erupted from an old, rusty company camera and a reported shouted,

"What was the motivation for the book?"

Ron stopped for a moment, and pondered the question. "Eh--" he began, "I was never trying to write the next big masterpiece, honestly. I just wanted to give everyone a sense of exactly what happened during the second war and the years preceding it. I thought they should all know the dangers we faced even when no one realized it. I never took any information I didn't have solid evidence for or any information I was not authorized to publicize or without permission of certain people."

Then, of course, there were the more daring questions, mostly about his romance:

"Mr. Weasley, does this book describe your romantic life?"

"Excuse me, sir, but did your wife approve all the mentions of your relationship?"

Plus, as with any good group of misfits, there were always the idiotic questions:

"What toothpaste do you use?"

"Is it true that Harry Potter never defeated Voldemort and that he only in hiding posing in the clever disguise of a shoe salesman in Switzerland?" As Ron could only have guessed, this received quite a few stares from the rest of the audience.

"You're going to have to check that out for yourself," he mused, trying to bit back a laugh, "Seeing as I'd be none the wiser if it was a fact."

The entire conference seemed to last forever. It made him seriously consider what he could be doing right now if he hadn't wrote the blasted book. It was basically all the notes from the journals he kept over the six years at Hogwarts and the one he had kept while they were on the run. That, combined with his memory and a few dug up facts from old text books was the foundation for his very own book, **Memoirs of the Second War**, which was, regrettably, a best seller. At first, it had been a slow riser, but once the craving for knowledge began, it was the only source of true information.

The reporters filed out, each with gleeful looks gracing their faces, all of them thinking they had found some important information that had never been printed before. He dropped onto a nearby park bench and pulled out the book from his worn knapsack. His eyes dropping slightly, he placed the book on top of his stomach and swung his legs his around the side.

**

* * *

**

Memoirs of the Second War 

By Ronald Weasley

Introduction

* * *

To most, the day of October 31rst was cheerful endeavor, and the year of 1981 was not different. Children littered the streets, pounding on doors with ugly masks and exclaiming their desire for candy. The leaves were orange, with tiny pieces broken from the rough edges and the once lush green grass turned to a dull brown color. The Muggle world, a world entirely different from our own, was unaware the state of an invisible world, parallel to them all those years. Many families had been driven away from their homes into hiding and others broken because of lost members. The First War was at its peak, and the resistance was growing weaker. 

The Ministry was collapsing under control of the Death Eaters and the neutral families were blackmailed into his service; You-Know-Who of course, with a name rarely spoken out of conditioned fear. Little hope remained in the hearts of those opposed, and it was now becoming evident that the threat they thought was juvenile was anything but.

The small village of Godric's Hollow was fairly isolated from the rest of the main road leading to the central town. With residence of only approximately 2,000, the danger seemed non-existent. The Potters however, were smart enough to know this wouldn't last long. They were fairly new residents to the village, but it was not up to them. James was set to inherit the Potter Mansion, but it became inevitable that they would have to find a deserted area to hide. The isolated Godric's Hollow was more than ideal to be separated from the outside world.

It might have worked had there not been a shady figure in their midst. However, a young man named Peter Pettigrew was plotting his revenge. By a mere stroke of luck he was appointed the Secret-Keeper in replacement of Sirius Black. Two weeks later on the dreary Halloween night, the Potters were completely unaware of the catastrophe that would be knocking on their door.

The attack, unfortunately, happened so quickly that neither of the Potters had any chance to retaliate. It seemed as though You-Know-Who, who only very few referred to as Voldemort, was now unstoppable. He very well might have been, had it not been for little Harry Potter. James died for his family that night with a heroic departing, and Lily pleaded for death in the place of her only son. After Lily was destroyed by Voldemort, the wand was turned on Harry. In an unexpected turn of events, the Killing Curse, which was famous for the lack of a counter-curse or any blocking method, rebounded off the baby and onto the caster.

The marvelous encounter spread across the Wizarding World, naming the small infant as the 'Boy Who Lived'. The savior of the wizarding world was here at last, and no one could deny themselves the happiness they felt. The reign of the First War was over, and families that had been broken apart rejoiced for small Harry Potter.

The countless Death Eaters had all turned themselves in, and those who hadn't were captured within weeks. Several dozen suspects were condemned to Azkaban. The entirety of the wizarding world was in a frenzy, and no one knew how to stop it. The most famous condemned man of all was Sirius Black, the presumed murderer of the Potters and right-hand man to Voldemort. While Sirius Black was framed for the actions of his former friend, the population of happy wizards and witches praised the heavens for his imprisonment. All they knew was the man that had murdered everything they had held in their hearts had been abolished and the First War had officially ended.

However, this is not the story of the First War. I have not written this to depict the lives of James and Lily Potter, or to prove the innocence of Sirius Black. Nor is this a story of the wonderful, prosperous years between 1982-1990. No, this is the tale of the man that Harry Potter became. I am here to retell the twisted story of the Golden Trio: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and everyone that helped them along the way.

These are the dreadfully true memoirs of the second war.

* * *

The Weasleys owned a fairly large property in a small wizarding village outside of the very popular Hogsmeade. While it had closed for quite some time due to the year of the rule of Lord Voldemort, it was now more prosperous than ever before. The house was guarded by a small picket fence surrounded by rose bushes. It four stories including the cellar and was only accessible from the long, dusty Hogsmeade road. 

"Did they behave today?"

"Rose always behaves," Hermione mused and sat down on the couch. Ron had the Daily Prophet in his hands and was reading an article about his best-selling book. "Hugo, on the other hand, takes after you."

"Lucky lad," he muttered and continued reading. He paused for a moment and looked around the room, stretching. He let his gaze travel to his wife, who was sitting right next to him, glaring. "What?" He asked, a confused look gracing his face. She laughed and took the paper from his hand with a heavy sigh. "It's the same old thing," he said with a bitter look on his face, "Every one of them loves the bloody thing."

"Listen to this: 'Weasley's masterpiece is nothing but the facts, without too much exaggeration and a touch of real emotion from the excerpts of his life. It puts you in the thick of the action, showing us what it was like to be a part of the second war.' That's quite a high praise, Mr. Big-shot." Hermione grinned, sipping her coffee.

"I suppose," he said, a small smile hiding behind his lips. "I'll go make sure that Rose is asleep by now."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Hermione laughed, "She's quite enamored with that best-selling book the Prophet keeps raving about. You know, the one that the editor reported as an 'Emotional masterpiece'? What was the authors name again? Ronald—W. something?"

"Why don't you go read the book if it's so fine?"

"I've read it twice already, Ron."

"Is it because you love me?"

"That could be part of it," she confessed. He didn't fail to see the slight smile she was trying to hide.

It didn't take him very long to reach his daughter's room. Opening the door a crack, he peered inside and smiled at the sight. She was lying, with her legs half in the air, on the red and white checkered bed with the blue blanket draped over her. Upon further inspection, he noticed the open book on her lap. He picked it up, moving his fingers on the smooth, delicate fabric and kissed her on the forehead. She stirred a bit and rolled over to the side, but never woke up. Taking the book the banister he had placed it on, he sat in the armchair next to her bed and began to read.

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A/N: Did you like it? The idea kind of just came to me. It was a spur of the moment thing.

S.S.M.


	2. Chapter 2

**Memoirs of the Second War**

_Second Installment:_

_Our Story Breaks Ground_

* * *

Before I knew Harry Potter, I thought he was the normal stereotype of a hero. You know, the handsome tragic youth that all the girls swooned over, not to mention my sister. She was, to put it very bluntly, obsessed; as was, of course, the rest of the world at the time. They were itching for news about the Boy-Who-Lived and his whereabouts, and I'm not ashamed to say I was the least bit curious. Granted, I also wanted to see my sister's reaction when she found out she _wasn't _going to marry the legend, but that's beside the point. Shows how much I knew, obviously.

I know my mother regrets ever telling her the story of Harry Potter. Thus, he's been not only the tragic hero to all witches and wizards alike, but the celebrity crush of my younger sister for many years. I'd practically lived for this moment all of my life, as many others wizards and witches alike have; to go to Hogwarts. I was thrilled by the mere prospect of it, months before it even occurred. Sure, the schoolwork was anything but exciting or captivating, but I got to do something that my brothers had done before me. I wasn't 'Little Ronnie' anymore. I was starting something… something new. Lord only knows what I was starting, because at that time I had no clue of the depth it would amount to.

The thrill of the First War had died down over the years, and many families had started where they had left off. Diagon Alley was a public place again, without fear of Death Eaters or kidnappers. Hogwarts was safer than ever, and the threat was non-existent. At least, that's what we all thought. Sometimes, a trick of the light can confuse us in its most simplistic form; its how muggle magicians make such a profit off fake magic. We can be deceived into thinking one thing, and never learn the truth behind the matter. I could've stayed unknowingly in darkness had I never met Harry Potter. However, I did meet him. At the time, he was just a scrawny little messy-haired boy who I'd pegged for a muggle-born almost immediately. He wasn't, was he? No, he was Harry Potter.

That morning, my sister had gotten herself ready at four in the morning, complaining she couldn't sleep. She and mum went downstairs to have hot cocoa because she couldn't seem to get her mind off Harry Potter. Ginny, my sister, was eccentric when need be, and sometime when it needn't be too. I stared at myself for long hours in the mirror, cocking my head sideways to see if my hair fell better that way. I wanted to make a good first impression; I wanted to make something of myself. There might've been the slightest possibility as well that, perhaps in the back of my mind, I was trying to impress the great Harry Potter. After all, everyone wanted to know him. You can't blame a man for peer pressure; it's out of his hands.

We drove to the station in dad's old Ford Anglia, muggles staring at us the entire time. I supposed we looked quite silly, in our knit jumpers and old-fashioned car (I reasoned they would be more startled had they known it could fly), but it didn't matter. I was not going to be fazed by anything today, because today was my day and I knew it. I twirled my wand through my fingers several times and dropped it on the floor of the car. George pretended to step on it and mum scowled him for it, ranting about how proper boys should behave. If I have to go with the two of them, I might have to reconsider going at all.

The car was packed as well, like we belonged in the circus or something. Ginny was sitting on mum's lap in the front seat, probably not the best idea, I'd say. Fred and George were practically on top of each other whispering excitedly about god knows what. I was in the middle, squished between them and Percy who was staring absentmindedly out the window trying to shine his prefect's badge. I was pretty sure I never wanted to prefect, too much responsibility.

Bill had come home from his job at Gringotts during the summer, telling us all about girl he'd met over in Australia, where he was positioned right now. Charlie was at home still, packing for his new apprentice job in Romania. He was working with dragons, which I would be happy never to have to encounter. Yes, I was quite the wimp when it came to danger. I was never the one to sacrifice his life for anything, and I doubt I knew how much that would change.

We walked into King's Cross, my sister bouncing with excitement. We were already late as it was, and Percy kept checking his watch and scolding himself with small sayings such as 'Remember Prefect Responsibilities' or 'Not a good way to start the year, is it?' I couldn't tell if he realized we were even there. Regardless, we reached the platform at 10:45, fifteen minutes before the train would leave. Fred and George were playing the 'No, I'm George' game with mum, and as always, regardless of the fact it happened daily, she fell for it. In the middle of their speech, a boy walked up with a small, shy smile on his face. Fred and George grinned and ran straight into 9¾, but mum looked at the boy with a smile of her own.

"Could you tell me how to--" he started, but began to mutter after that. I assumed that he wanted to know where the platform was and how to get in, but I kept my mouth shut as I could tell my mother was hoping for. Ginny was looking around—no doubt for Harry Potter—and not paying much attention to the poor muggle-born lad. Mum was explaining how to enter the platform and I just stared at him. He noticed and shifted slightly. I felt bad for staring, but I couldn't help wondering why he was so affected by it. Sure, some people were shy, but he looked damn _scared. _

We all walked into the platform and I forgot about the black-haired boy. Immediately, Fred and George went to find Lee and Percy went to the Prefect's compartment, leaving me completely alone. I kept peeking into compartments looking for company. I looked for any familiar faces, or even friendly faces, but found I was coming up short. I had met Seamus Finnigan briefly before when his mother had come over for dinner, and someone had told me he was in a few compartments down. I was headed there when someone caught my eye in one of the compartments. It was the lone black-haired boy, staring outside the window with his luggage on the other side of him. I had only thought to peek and was about to leave when something struck me. I don't know why I did it, even to this day, but it happened. I turned to him with a bright smile on my face and lied through my teeth.

"Can I sit here, everywhere else is full."

He turned around and looked at me, surprised. "Yeah, sure."

"I'm Ron by the way; Ron Weasley."

He smiled in return and turned away as he said, "I'm Harry; Harry Potter."

Everything seemed to stop. I'd felt as though the train had stopped, coming to a skidding halt. "Are you really?" That was all I could make out. I knew I was staring at his forehead, clearly interested. It was then that he seemed to become uncomfortable again. He showed me his scar and my eyebrows rose to the roof. I wondered what Ginny what have said if she was here.

That one moment changed my entire life, and I've never regretted it. Harry Potter was soon to become my best friend, and far more than just the boy-who-lived to me and my family. His fame quickly died away with me and over time I realized that he was a normal wizard, just like everyone else. Perhaps things would've gone differently had Seamus been seated a few carriages ahead of Harry. However, he wasn't. For that, I am grateful.

Maybe, if only for that moment, fate was on my side.

**

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**

Ministry of Magic

* * *

"Weasley, I expected those papers on my desk _days_ ago. Just because you're some huge big-shot author now doesn't mean you can skive off work. You wanted to be an Arour, and thus you will earn it and not flop around here like you own the place." Richard Johnson was an annoying prick who was only assigned the job as head of Assistant Head of the Arour Department because his father had recently become the new Minister of Magic. Kingsley had retired, determined to live the rest of his life in quiet and solitude. "What are you all staring at him for; don't you have work to do!" Johnson drew up to his full height and many of the workers whimpered away, some of them scowling and whispering.

"Bad luck, mate," Harry said, patting him on the back and slowly sinking into his desk. Harry was a shoe-in for the Assistant Head, or at least before Kenneth Johnson became Minster of Magic and dominated his departments with friends and family members. Johnson's father was an old acquaintance with Lucius Malfoy, which could never bring a single thing but despair. Although a lot of the Wizarding World's prejudice died after the war, a lot still remained. They were not free from horrible attacks and no one could foresee the mistreatment of muggle-born wizards and witches by anti-muggle activists. Not everything was perfect in the land of the after-war.

"Johnson's got a mean-streak going nowadays," Harry told him, sorting some paper on his desk. "He's fired seven people in the past two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Ron asked, shaking his head dejectedly. "He hates me," he continued.

"He won't fire you Ron; he can't."

"Right," Ron said, laughing a little. "We're on peachy terms, aren't we? The man detests me, Harry. The only thing stopping him from firing me is getting his arse outside of his office so he can spare a minute to do it. He's got that fan-club of girls in his study; every one of them thinks he's handsome and brilliant." He took a sip of coffee and slammed it down on his desk. Harry winced slightly and pulled a rather large looking file out of the right-hand drawer.

"You've got a little fan-club yourself, Ronnie boy. Everyone loves that handsome red-haired author who's filled with 'compassion and love'." He said the last part with so much mock enthusiasm and a high pitched voice that Ron smacked his hand away, as it was drawing dangerously close to the red-head. Harry chuckled and continued to sort out his paper.

"Sod off," Ron said angrily.

"Number One," Harry announced, counting them on his fingers as he progressed, "You're lovely wife Hermione."

"She's my wife; she doesn't count," Ron muttered dryly.

"…and I'm sure she'd love to hear that," Harry said with the faintest shadow of a smirk appearing on his face.

"Second," Harry plowed onward, ignoring Ron completely as he muttered incessantly; "You're darling, adorable and loveable sister…"

"She's just my sister, Harry. You're the one who's been snogging her under Mum's mistletoes at Christmas every year since the war ended."

"What can I say; you've got a hell of a sister."

"You're disgusting, mate."

"Your loving and caring _mother_…"

"I believe it's time for this conversation to end…"

"…and half the female population."

"Yeah, right."

"Trust me Ron, Johnson wouldn't fire you." When Ron gave him an incredibly incredulous look, Harry answered with, "Johnson's a people's person. He's all about pleasing the public so he'll look good in their eyes. He loves to make out that he's the best; the most talented guy their going to get. You, on one hand, have immense popularity in the Wizarding World. He's not about to fire you when he knows it'll leave him with a bad reputation. He's all about his reputation, and if he can't sustain it, you know there's going to be a problem on his end. Don't worry about it and it'll end up fine. Of course, you'll blow the whole thing if you end up losing your female appeal."

"I hate you."

"I know," he replied with a smug, satisfied look on his face.

Ron opened his book a crack that was resting open on the side of his desk and glanced at a sentence not too far down the page. _'That one moment changed my entire life, and I've never regretted it.'_

He sighed and thought with a smile, '_I wonder if it's too late to change best friends.'

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_A/N: I'm really sorry it took so long to get this out. I hope you all really like it and I'm loving the review-hype for this story. 

S.S.M.


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